Silouette
by Renee Maria
Summary: She told me that I needed to go, to leave her forever.


Chapter 1:

Sometimes I think about things that have a meaning I'm unsure of. The dark sky with a light moving across in a circular pattern, stopping for only a moment, then returning on its path, back again, and back again, over and over. Dead leaves falling from the sky down onto me, onto my bed, onto my clothes, covering me until I can't see a thing, only the leaves. Red streets paved with blood red brick and carriages rolling over them like the roads were quicksand, falling slowly into them, the horses picking up speed to pull themselves out.

These are my dreams, I believe. The images come to me sometimes in the day while I'm sitting by the window or reading a book. The pages melt away and reveal things to me. I know I have seen them before. Why do these dreams come to me? What has become of me?

I feel as though my life weren't my own any longer.

Alec comes and goes. He lives right above me. I have always had loud people living above me. I can here his every move, when he comes and when he goes, when he moves his furniture, when he fucks, when he plays that damn instrument… And Alec doesn't make love… he only fucks. That is the worst of it. More times than I can count he has threatened my life. I can't seem to keep my mouth shut, nor do I want to.

"Alec, you bastard!" I yell to him. "Let her go! Let her fucking go!"

"Son of a bitch!" he'll say. "You damn son of a bitch! I'll kill you when I'm through with her!"

He never even comes down. He must fall asleep because the room grows so quiet. I hear the door shut softly and see the girls go every time. The night turns to morning and then I hear him again, moving about, readying himself for his day. I don't know what he does or where he goes but he goes away in the afternoons for some time.

Sometimes I envy Alec for his view of the world from up there. His apartment stretches to the corner of the building, giving him a sight of the sea from his north window. Not that I can complain… The east view is quite breathtaking in the early mornings as the sun begins to peak over the horizon.

I'm not sure how long I have been here. I don't count the days any longer. North France is a peaceful place to live, unlike Paris. I can't say that I don't miss it… I think of it all the time, of my time there, of my life, a life that I sometimes feel cannot possibly have been mine. It is as though I watched myself from afar, watched myself coming and going, making love… Yes, I made love. I never once fucked.

I made love and I will never make love again. It doesn't bother me. I have my memories to keep me believing, to keep me alive.

Damn that instrument! I can hear it up there, every mid-afternoon. I don't think he wants anyone to know it is him. Once in a while he gets a knock on his door. I hear the instrument come to an abrupt stop and he doesn't answer the door. Once he is sure the guest is gone, I hear it start up again. Sometimes he plays for five minutes, sometimes five hours.

Today I think I'm going to go down to the market. I haven't been in days and the lack of sun is starting to get to me. I do enjoy the light from the window, but it can't compare to walking those streets in mid-day amidst all the busy people. Fresh, salty oxygen just pushes into your lungs down there without even the slightly effort to pull it in on your part.

I think it's been about five years since I've been to Paris. Once in a while, on a day like today, I think of getting on a train and going back there, just for the day. But then I realize that I can't possibly do that. I am too afraid, afraid that I will not be able to return once I set foot near… I can't even say the words. I don't want to think of it now, not today, not when I am just about to get up from this chair and go out into the world.

I can feel something today that is strange, a feeling that I can't place or quite understand. It pulls me out of my room down to the streets. This feeling won't go away… I don't want to think too much of it, for fear that I will hope for something that cannot possibly be. I'll go down there to the market. Yes, I'll get something to eat, maybe a delicious piece of fruit. Then I'll go down by the beach and get some sun. Maybe I'll be able to write today. Maybe…

Push this feeling away, Christian. Don't think this way. It is unhealthy. I know it is unhealthy but I don't care. She told me to go and I went. I went to save her and myself. She is dead and still I live. She is dead... I live but do I want to? How many times have I thought of ending my life. But then I think that I remember something, something that tells me there is still a reason to live, a reason to wait for something to happen, something is going to happen…


End file.
